


Fragments

by infandomswetrust



Series: Redemption [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Love, M/M, Memories, Nostalgia, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, as always in this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infandomswetrust/pseuds/infandomswetrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the course of a desperate clutch at the shadows of the past, Will goes to Hannibal's now empty office.</p>
<p>Empty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it would make sense to read the others first. That's why it's called a series.

There was not much left of the past.

_I’m dismantling who I was and moving it brick by brick._

Will didn’t know why he came here. He felt as though he had been disassociating again, as if he had sleepwalked here in a daze even though he was perfectly aware of what he was doing. Where he was going. What was in a daze was why he was going there.

With almost a year gone by, the office had long been cleared. Left empty and lifeless. There wasn’t much they had found. Will hadn’t expected them to. Had helped ensuring they wouldn’t. He stood in what had once been the waiting room for almost an hour before he could make himself go in. He was surrounded by shadows of the past, but shadows were all he had so he left the lights out. He doubted the electricity was still on anyway.

Here he was. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. He closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing. Piece after piece came back. The desk. The ladder. The stag figure. The couch. And lastly, the two chairs. The lights were on now, brighter than they had actually ever been, but he was so used to darkness by now. The past was the only faint beam of light that prevented him from complete blindness. Suddenly whispers started streaming through his head. Fragments from another life. Shadows. At first unintelligible, then gradually getting louder, clearer.

 

_You are totally functional and more or less sane. Well done._

_Killing must feel good to god too. He does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?_

_When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. That’s really the only time I feel safe._

_Tell me about your mother._

_Some lazy psychiatry, Dr. Lecter. Low hanging fruit._

_Can’t beat god, become him?_

_Did you just smell me?_

_I feel like I have dragged you into my world._

_No, I got here on my own, but I appreciate the company._

_I don’t want you to wake up and see a totem of your own making._

_I’m your friend, Will. I don’t care about the lives you safe. I care about your life._

_I have to deal with you… and my feelings about you._

_Where shall we begin?_

_You don’t want me to have anything in my life that isn’t you._

_Don’t lie to me._

_Will you return the courtesy?_

_How would you do it?_

_With my hands._

_You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will._

_I’m not deceiving you Dr. Lecter. I’m just pointing out the snare around your neck._

_We’re both alone without each other._

Will blinked and the light was gone, the voices quiet. The past retreating and shoving him back into the grey, lonely present.

He took a step closer to the now empty bookshelves. He wondered why they had left them there. Probably too big to move. He ran his fingers across the dusting surface where once the words of the world’s greatest poets, philosophers, psychologists, scientists and physicians had filled the space. Suddenly he stopped. There was something. A piece of paper, lying on a higher shelf. Out of reach, like everything else in his life now. He looked around and his eyes caught a small drawer that had for some reason been left here too. Without paying much thought to it, he pulled it in front of the shelf and carefully climbed on it, extending his arm until he could reach the paper. He stepped down and froze. He hadn’t realized his knees had given in under him, but when he could form a clear thought again, he was crouching on the floor. The drawing in his hands. Tears on his cheeks.

Patroclus’ death.

_Achilles wished all Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to bring them down._

Probably less intervention if they would have brought each other down.

Will let the paper drop out of fear of creasing it as his hands began to tremble. No way was it a coincidence it was still here. He didn’t know how, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. Nothing was coincidental when it came to Hannibal Lecter.

A farewell. Something more than a shadow to hold onto. He picked the drawing up again and stared at it blankly. Every second of looking at it felt like needles piercing through his eyes and what was left of his heart. Was there something left? Hadn’t he taken it with him in its entirety?

Hadn’t he left that void in Will, just as he had left the scar? Will raised the paper to his nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to get something, _anything,_ that was at least remotely Hannibal.

He didn’t. There was nothing left. Will stood up as he trusted himself to stand again and carefully slid the paper into his coat pocket. With a last look around, he left the office. His eyes glanced at his watch without his consent just as he walked through the waiting room.

7:30p.m.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Way to dump some of favorite quotes *pats self on shoulder*


End file.
